Pretty Women
by The Crone's Daughter
Summary: Some women that have made Beyond who he is today. An Edgar/BB fanfic!


Halloween candy + Edgar Allen Poe + Beyond Birthday + 2 days without sleep + the Sweeney Todd Soundtrack = …I don't really know, but I have a new story for you! This before Beyond went to Wammy's, so he a little kid! The story used is Poe's "Berenice" and I hope that you enjoy! XD.

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Lydia.

My beautiful sister…my dear sister who now rots with maggots in a cold grave six feet deep. Oh, how I miss her; did you know today was her birthday? I remember when we used to play in the flowing grass fields, long before I came to Wammy's.

My family is what you could call _odd,_ with my madness and my father's strange fetishes with the freshly dead. He took women from their graves and dressed them in our mother's finest, but it was the smell that made him drag it out days later. Maybe it was the fact he wanted to replace our mother…I'll never know though.

I shoved a hot poker down his throat before I was captured.

However, my sister was perfect; a glowing angel that left a lightness in your heart. Lydia and I were opposites in every way; her hair was spun gold while mine was raven feathers plucked live. She enjoyed the sunny lands and the town although I adored the dark house and even darker corners. Our house was far from civilization, a large estate in the middle of a forest with a cemetery a few minutes away. It was tall and gray; its halls were empty and were scented with Lady Misery's perfume whenever walked to a room.

The rest of my memory is foggy of the house, but the one room I remember the most is the library. It's were I spent most of my time, away from the pestering nanny and venomous stepmother. I almost hated the stepmother more than _him…_ the key word is _almost. _The scent of books calmed me down, the soft paper and the treasures that were hidden in the inky words gave me pleasure of indescribable amount. It was a large room, filled to the brim with books on every subject; I read romances and thrillers, serial murderers of our time and caring human souls.

I could describe in full detail the human body and could perform a number of surgeries from memory. It was where my mother died giving birth to me also, where my father marked me as child from hell, not because of my ruby irises.

What else could have killed such a kindly woman like her? As I grew up, it was discovered that I had sickness, one that left me in a complete trance for hours at a time. It wasn't severe daydreaming; it was that I was thinking. Very hard. I like to call it _monomania, _where a single object or scent holds my attention and I take my time observing and savoring the item.

You might glance at a pebble and never think of it again, while I picture it in my hand, its weight and texture, even how it would look if it went through a person's skull as the brain matter ran slowly from the nose and ears. I remember when a servant put a vase of flowers near my ever-growing stack of books in the morning, the scent of the hydrangeas pulled me so deep within my mind I did not awake until two days later when my nanny slapped me back to reality.

I never really liked that woman; she had a scent that made my nose burn whenever she walked past me. Books had the same effect on me, phrases from one page would play in my mind repeatedly as I tried to sleep, eliminating all my vocabulary to those _sickening _words, all until I start a new novel.

Lydia also had a disease, one that left her incapacitated for days. They called it epilepsy and it was a horrible illness; Lydia's auburn eyes would turn hazy and roll up into their sockets as her body shook violently and pink foam bubbled from her pale lips. I read many texts hoping to find a cure that could ease her seizures but there was none, all we could do was hold her down and watch as her body contorted in pain.

During these times, I would sit alone in my library, the darkness my only companion as her screams tore through the walls. I stayed inside for days, the hushed whispers of my stepmother and nanny outside my doors told me that Lydia's case had only worsened. I entered her room, a large room with glass windows on three sides to that let sunlight in. Her large bed held her like a child in a cradle, her face almost invisible against her pillows. I sidestepped a large, colorful stuffed animal on the floor and climbed on her bed, holding her cold hand in mine.

Her blonde hair looked bleached white and her breath rattled with each sigh, eyes shut to the world around her. I reached into my pocket, pulling out a small jewelry box that jingled with a chime. "Lydia…Lydia," I whispered, trying to wake her from her slumber; I shook her lightly on the shoulder, regretting it as she groaned in pain. I gently rubbed her hand and placed the box under her pillow so that no one would move it. The box held a rounded stone as blue as the ocean, my sister's favorite color.

I had found it in a hidden shelve of a bookcase and wanted to give it to her. I slid from the bed and walked out the door, closing quietly behind me as I made m way back to my library. I stared off into the distance; the setting sun made moving shadows on the walls and brought forth the creatures of the night.

A small spider spun its web in a corner inside the bookcase I faced; I gazed at it as it gracefully pulled on its silk and began to make a twisted spiral. Its long, slender legs were a muddy brown and danced in the moonlight as it put the final changes on its new home. The sun had begun to rise and lighted the room; the spider's web glinted like pulled tendrils of glass, making my eyes water in pain. I leaned forward; a finger outstretched to the still arachnid and gently pulled it from its web.

My warm breath caused it to wake, scuttling around my palm and tickling my hand. It was a flicker of a shadow that broke my concentration; I looked up to see Lydia. It seemed that she had slipped in without me knowing, her skin as white as paper and her eye sockets had hollowed out. Two light brown irises stared down at me blankly. Her chest slowly rose and she let out a pained sigh, fingers twitching for a moment as she bent down to eye level.

She gave me a lopsided smile with teeth _so_ ivory white…I only stared as she got up and left the room.

I closed my eyes, the whiteness of her teeth imprinted in my mind. I gasped as the spider bit me, the flesh around it already turning blue; I ignored it as Lydia's perfect smile held me hostage. Each tooth was shaped into a rectangle, and they looked as if they were polished to a finish. My breath quickened and I curled into a ball, the marble floor ice cold beneath my cheek.

I heard my stepmother scream sometime later, it seems that Lydia died in her sleep. The nanny whispered to the servants that it should have been me instead of Lydia. I felt no sadness for my loss, no tears or a tearing pain in my soul. I felt nothing, behind my eyelids every time I blinked, all I saw was white, pure white.

I remember the small spider crawling away towards its web, its brown exoskeleton cracking like glass to reveal a white leg. More and more fell off as it climbed up; the silver web held a porcelain spider as my mind drifted away.

The chair feels so soft; I push myself deeper into the leather breathing in the deep scent. The fire crackled happily, I yawned and stretched my body, rubbing my arms as they clench in pain.

I scratch my head, the smell of graveyard dirt sharp in my nose. I glance at my hands, muddied with dirt and broken plants, the same thing with my shirt and pants. A fragmented memory comes to mind, something that makes my blood freeze and head pound. I try to bring more details, but the flickering shadows merely laugh at me when nothing comes.

"_What was it?"_ I mutter to myself, grinding my teeth in anger for this was the first time my memory has failed me.

I shrug it off and turn to the small coffee table beside me; the small box and a pair of pliers take my breath away as it sits in front of me.

What was it doing here and why am I shaking?

I grip the chair as my body shudders in fear; the knock at the library door nearly makes me jump. A small servant walked in, fear clear in his eyes as he looked at me. He muttered quickly, looking down as he told me that Lydia was buried alive. I picked at a scab as he continued; he said that he heard a sound outside and went to the graveyard to check, finding her body flung onto the ground and mouth opened wide.

He shakily points at my hands, which he wiped away with a handkerchief, and showed me that they were bloodied and covered in nail marks. He then pointed to the shovel caked in dirt that lay in a corner; I sprinted over to it, knocking the small box to the ground.

The servant's scream made me jump; I looked down to see 32 slightly pink and perfect teeth and a small blue stone on the ground, both reflecting the bright flames of the fire.


End file.
